Power Plays
by Rainstorm Amaya Arianrhod
Summary: Because that's what it's all about. WARNING. SLASH OF ALL TYPES AND SQUICK. Well, I am a Dovie.
1. Avarice

**A/N:** The Mayster finally ventures into slash and squick. This will be a three-parter: Sarai/Imajane, Dove/Imajane and Sarai/Kyprioth. **_Please read and review!_**

**Disclaimer:** Nothing's mine.

* * *

_What Rittevon wants, Rittevon gets._

Imajane thought this as she looked at the silks and satins the trembling tailor had brought her, and then at the jewellery left by the jeweller's yesterday, so she could match the pieces with a fabric of her choice. The room was a welter of bright- and delicate-coloured materials, this stack rejected- too bright, they made her look sallow – this stack considered- they suited Her Royal Highness admirably, the tailor dared to comment.

She sat, her pale blue skirts rustling gently, and looked at the jewellery, comparing it in her mind's eye with her favourites of the materials.

A ruby tiara; she held it up to her face. No; rubies had never suited her, or gold: she was left with silver. Second-best. No Rittevon likes to be second-best.

Diamonds next. Imajane smiled, the small white teeth flashing. Earrings, with a matching collar. Imajane carefully put them on, her maid hurrying to assist her with the collar's clasp, and then holding a mirror up with shaking hands. Imajane examined her reflection, smiling approval at the earrings; but then a glint off the shining collar caughter her eye, and she frowned.

_A Rittevon is nobody's dog! What Rittevon wants, Rittevon gets!_

She tore it off, probably damaging the mechanism of the clasp, but she did not care. Imajane flung the necklace to the floor. Her maid picked it up, trembling, and placed it on the rejected pile of precious jewellery. The maid offered Imajane a different necklace.

Imajane leant forward and inspected it. Moonstones, set in silver circular chain-links, with grey pearls hanging down, dripping from it. Imajane snapped her fingers, and the maid fastened the necklace and stepped back, holding up the mirror.

A slow smile spread across Imajane's face again, banishing the darkness of mood the collar had caused. The maid shivered; Imajane was _volatile_, and there were some things you didn't really want to know about the princess's... inclinations. Imajane turned her head to the side slightly, admiring her reflection. Silently, the maid offered her the earrings and bracelet that went with the necklace, and shivered as Imajane's hands lingered on her fingers a little long than was entirely necessary.

_What Rittevon wants, Rittevon gets._

Imajane finished admiring her own reflection and glanced at the materials laid out for her to see. Quietly, she rose and lifted a pale blossom pink silk from the stack she had liked, and compared it with the bracelet on her right wrist. An excellent match.

Carefully, Imajane unpicked the clasps of necklace, earrings and bracelets and laid them down.

A pair of necklaces caught her eye. They hadn't been deliberately placed together, a silver chain with jade pendants hanging from it, and a gold chain with tigers'-eyes set in it. She picked them up, and walked over to the fabrics.

Among those she had liked, there was a green satin similar to the colour of the jade on the necklace. Among those that had not suited her, there was a soft amber. Imajane held the gold necklace to it. It reminded her of someone, someone she had seen return from exile recently, someone she had wanted.

Imajane also remembered last night's unpleasant talk with Rubinyan. She had accepted that marrying Dunevon to Saraiyu, and Saraiyu becoming one of her ladies-in-waiting, was a painful necessity; painful to her luarin pride, necessary because the raka were restless. It was an injury to her pride, but a sop to theirs.

Her smile grew, showing the bright white teeth she was so proud of, as she remembered Saraiyu's beauty, her charm. This would be a gift from a relation-to-be, a kind mistress.

And pride went both ways. Imajane knew from what she'd seen and heard that the Lady Saraiyu had much of her own.

Imajane would enjoy humbling her.

_What Rittevon wants, Rittevon gets._


	2. Advice

**A/N:** Dove/Imajane. What else can I say? Other than **_please read and review_**?

**Dedication:** To Lea, Emmy, Gem, Cass, Kall and countless other Dovies, especially those taking part in the _Pairings That Never Crossed Your Mind_ thread, who supply me with the innumerable plotbunnies that chomp on my feet and other portions of my anatomy and render me totally incapable of writing anything other than the plotbunny in question until it's done... I am grateful. Truly, honestly. Embarrassingly.

**Disclaimer:** Nothing is mine.

* * *

Dove placed the last paper on a neat stack of official-looking documents and slouched in her seat.

Then she sat up straight again. Queens were not allowed to slouch- or at least, that seemed to be the received wisdom, although Dove suspected there was something of a flaw in this, since nobody had known any of the most recent queens very well. If anybody had, they were probably dead.

So Dove was a queen regnant without a clue how a queen should behave. She didn't know if there were accepted rules, whether a queen was allowed to ride astride-saddle or not, whether a queen's ladies-in-waiting absolutely had to follow her around half the time, whether she really had to sign everything...

_Advice from who?_ Dove wondered to herself. There were no other queens around- _And quite right too!_ she added to herself with a spark of spirit. _Only one queen in a country!_

Of course, this was practical. Dove couldn't spend all her time cultivating other queens in the Copper Isles in order to ask them advice. The notion was absurd.

_Round and round in circles,_ Dove thought crossly. It all came down to that one question- advice from who? What friends did she have who could help her? She knew some Countesses- Ladies- Duchesses – in fact, she knew all of them. But they weren't her friends. She was their queen. The two did not mix.

Her eyes swept her study idly. Maps, maps, maps, family portrait, ah, maps, window, desk, chairs, portrait of her –she really ought to get that moved- books, books, records, box.

_What do I keep in there?_ she thought suddenly, and then remembered. Everything I don't use regularly, but need to keep safe anyway... like jewellery.

Jewellery. Jewellery reminded her of someone, quite probably Sarai. No, not Sarai.

Dove sat very still, and thought. Small glimpses of the person she was thinking of flashed into her mind.

_Blonde hair. Silver earrings. Clever blue eyes. Tinkling laugh, like bells_, _or broken glass. Defiance. A jail cell. Pride. Soft pink mouth, compressed into a hard line._

Dove blinked. Oh.

_And what else do I keep in there?_ she asked herself. _Oh yes, that's right. Keys._

She got up, and crossed the room. The box opened at a kiss; every time she did this she felt foolish, but it was worth it for the best security. Carefully, Dove fished through the cloth bags containing jewels, money and letters tied with gold ribbon until she found a small blue cotton bag. It looked the least important of the lot, but it contained the keys to a madwoman's cell.

Dove might not know any duchesses, countesses, or ladies who could give her advice. But she did know a princess.

A tiny smile crossed her face. All her memories of Imajane were perfect, poised dignity... well, almost all. And so cunning; pushing her maid, in her dress, off her balcony, in order to fool Dove into thinking that she was dead- a simple ruse. So simple that Dove could almost blame herself for being stupid enough to walk into Imajane's rooms. Innocence had fled.

Dove sealed the box, opened the door and turned left down the corridor.

She walked through the maze of corridors, halls, courtyards, gardens and staircases that formed the palace without once losing her way. In the early weeks, Dove had often got lost. But she didn't want to have to keep asking directions, so she learnt the ways around the palace.

Dove did not want to ask advice. She just accepted that she had to.

She took a left, a right, another left and went down the staircase, lifting her skirts slightly to keep them off the dust. The sole guard jumped to his feet and bowed hastily. "Your Majesty! I had no clue-"

"I didn't warn anyone," Dove informed him. "Call it... a surprise inspection. And one bow is quite enough, thank you."

"Yes, your Majesty," the guard said, straightening. "Should I show you-"

"No," Dove interrupted. "I wish to know every corner of my palace. Meaning every corner. I shall not require assistance."

The guard shot her a worried look. "Milady," he began.

"I shall not require assistance," Dove repeated, and watched in satisfaction as the man bowed and left hurriedly. Then she turned, and spoke softly.

"Imajane," she said, and "Dovasary," a voice replied.

There was a moment of quiet, and then Dove demanded: "Don't you have any candles in here?"

Imajane chuckled humourlessly. Her voice was slightly rough. "No, not unless the warder decides I've been a good girl and deserve some light. Do not tell me you didn't know that, Dovasary. I'm told you know everything that happens in this country."

Dove struck a match in silence, and put it to a candle which she placed on a small table.

"Not going to give it to me?" Imajane sneered. In the candle-light, Dove could see how the past two- no, three –years had harshened the incipient lines on her face. Imajane was wearing a plain cotton dress, slightly faded navy, and her marriage band and a pair of small silver studs. Dove recalled the number of pieces originally belonging to Imajane now in her jewellery box, and experienced a small stab of guilt. Imajane's blonde hair –neatly drawn back into a bun - was now mostly silvered; her hands, tightly wound in her lap, still had the slim, elegant fingers Dove remembered, but the nails weren't entirely clean and needed cutting.

"I don't trust you," Dove replied at last, and dragged up a chair to sit by the iron bars separating Imajane's cell from the aisle.

Imajane smiled thinly. "How very... wise of you, my dear. Would you, I wonder, have said that two years ago?"

"You mean three, I think," Dove replied. "And no. Not in public. The gameboard has changed."

"Ah, yes," Imajane sighed. "I remember... you were so fond of chess. As many opponents as your sister had suitors, I seem to recall. Tell me," she added, and the look on her face was suddenly almost hungry, "how is your sister? Have you had news?"

"Married," Dove answered, slightly taken aback, "_happily_ married," she emphasised.

"Yes," Imajane mused. "Very much the romantic, Saraiyu. And- to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"Boredom," Dove told her.

"_Just_ boredom?" Imajane asked softly, leaning forward.

Dove swallowed, brown eyes held by Imajane's faintly mocking blue ones. "Just boredom," she reiterated firmly. "And I need to ask your advice."

"I see," Imajane said calmly, and broke eye contact with Dove, looking her up and down.

She looked back up at Dove, a faint smile curving her lips. "Why, Dovasary. You're all grown up."

"It's been three years," Dove reminded her.

Imajane nodded gently. "Of course. You must be... sixteen?"

"Yes," Dove confirmed.

"Sweet sixteen," Imajane murmured. Her eyes fixed on Dove's necklace.

"What?" Dove said sharply, feeling an impulse to pull the neckline of her dress up a little.

"I gave your sister a necklace like that," Imajane said softly to the air. "Gold and tigers'-eyes..."

Dove put a hand up to touch it. "Yes," she said defensively. "Sarai left it for me."

Imajane stretched out a hand, through the bars. Dove's hand fell away as the tips of Imajane's fingers skimmed her skin.

"You'll have to come closer," Imajane whispered, voice hoarse. As if hypnotised, Dove obeyed. Imajane stood too. They were a similar height.

_Dove's eyes caught and held inexorably by Imajane's, innocence versus knowledge, queen versus princess, girl versus woman, and Imajane's fingers on Dove's skin..._

Dove blushed and stepped back hastily. Imajane retreated as well, sitting down again carefully, a small smile of triumph on her face. "We are only human, Dovasary... everyone is only human. We live, laugh... love..." she dropped the word delicately in front of Dove, and watched as Dove coloured further.

"The warder will be back soon," Imajane said. "You wanted to ask me something?"

"Yes," Dove said quickly. "Advice. How does... how should a queen behave?"

Imajane half-closed her eyes and looked at Dove. "My very dear Dovasary," she said quietly, with a hidden darker edge in her voice, "the question is not how should a queen behave. The question is what you want them to see. You are queen, now. I can see, you are growing into the role... slowly. But you do not follow the rules. You make the rules, my dear."

"Very helpful," Dove said, a little bitterly.

Imajane held up one slim hand. "Wait, Dovasary. I had not finished. The second piece of advice..." she paused "... take life as it comes. Do not wait for a happy ending. Seize the moment. What is that phrase in the Tortallans' Old Language... carpe diem? I believe so. Seize the day, my dear."

Dovasary stood. "I shall."

As she left, Imajane called after her, "And come back to see me again!"

She didn't expect that Dove would. But as she sat there, with the candle flickering gently, Imajane smiled, and closed her eyes, and remembered the day that an uncertain queenling had entered her rooms...


	3. Admiration

**A/N:** The next bit. And not the last, either. I have decided this will become the repository for all the SFF-y stuff I write. Next up, Kel/Liam I. It is possible. I've done it. _**Please read and review!**_

**Disclaimer:** Nothing belongs to me.

* * *

At first, Sarai thought the flowers on her desk were from one of her admirers. The notes that accompanied them were short, in decided black handwriting she didn't recognise.

_Here's fern, for sincerity._

The maids said they had not left them in there. When questioned, Dove said nothing, merely returned to her book. Sarai was amused, bewildered, delighted; who liked her so much that he (her mind rebelled at the thought that the anonymous author might be a woman) would sneak into her house to leave these?

_Here's hyacinth, for loveliness._

Slowly, Sarai grew impatient. She imagined who might send her these notes; not Ferdy Tomang. Far too unimaginative. Gorgeous, though... and at that point, she got lost in a daydream, and never considered other possibilities.

_Here's camellia, for perfection._

Sarai didn't even recognise most of these flowers. They looked like they came from different lands, yet they were fresh, some barely opened. How did whoever it was manage it? Was it possible to grow, say, Tortallan flowers? Perhaps in a shady place?

_Here's orchid, for a beautiful lady._

It was the day she recieved the orchid that she started wearing the flowers to balls; by chance, she had just chosen a dress the perfect colour to go with the orchid. So she tucked the orchid into the sleek knot of black hair at the back of her neck and dared her sister to comment. Dove remained ominously silent.

_Here's snapdragon, for a lady as gracious as she is beautiful._

It was after she recieved the note and snapdragon that she finally decided that she wanted to see this mysterious suitor. So overnight, she left a small blue flower and a note in her own hand in the same place where she'd always found her own notes: _Who are you? Do I know you? _And the note she recieved in return came with a red and white rose, and the answer, _Yes and no; your room, tonight_.

_Here's bittersweet, for truth._

Sarai, shocked, horrified and barely concealing it, left a striped carnation on her desk, with an accompanying note. There was one word on it. _No_.

_Here's a single rose; I still love you._

The next morning, one opened, lone rose lay on her desk. Sarai regarded it, then took one leaf off the stem, placed it carefully back on the desk –_you may hope!_- and threw the rose out of the window. At the next ball, she wore a sprig of hydrangea –_thank you for understanding_- from her stepmother's plant from the Yamani Islands.

_Here's hyacinth- please forgive me._

And Kyprioth watched Sarai dance and talk and laugh, and sent her no more notes.

_Here's carnation, for rejection._

Well, maybe just the one.


End file.
